The Nation Hunt
by iSoftRain
Summary: The year is 2159. The events of the prior years have been terrible, with yet another World War of epic proportions, false endings, and sabotage like no other. Now, there is a new threat to the Nations. Their own people. Rated T for potential language and violence. Rating may change in later chapters.
1. Prologue Part One

**This is an Author's Note**

Hello, dedicated reader. If you were here before and read this, you'll notice that the second chapter has been removed. It's been taken down for editing. I noticed it was way too short, and that's unacceptable. I am working on fixing that now. The first chapter has also been overhauled, and quite a bit more filler has been added in. I noticed that the first two chapters were barebones. The second chapter will not be uploaded without the third, so please wait patiently!

Thank you! I will let you read the first chapter now. More from me at the bottom of the page. Read on!

iSoftRain

**Prologue Part One**

**Location: Unknown**

It was cold, and the walls were falling down. The Nations had gathered in the most obvious of places for their top secret gathering - an abandoned warehouse. There were many, cloaked in waves and folds of coarse black fabric, hoods drawn tight. A table had been dragged here, courtesy of England, for the occasion, being the third end of the Third World War, which had been ended twice beforehand, though the nations involved had declared war again not one week afterwards each time. The rest of the Nations had scrounged for chairs, and many had been uncovered, folding chairs and dining-room chairs, but there were not nearly enough. Civil and neutral Nations gave up their rights to seating to the more aggressive Nations.

This fateful meeting was called towards the final months in the Third World War, and the war had not, as predicted, ended the world upon which that war was fought. Rather, it had greatly decreased the net population of the nations that fought and those who threw themselves, unwittingly or by choice, into the crossfire. Many great republics had been lost in the war, and meetings such as this were commonly called to report the passing of a Nation or a rising of a powerful empire.  
Meetings such as this took place in locations that were secure, neutral territories. Liechtenstein was a popular choice for locations, as well as Sealand and Tasmania. Locations such as southern Svalbard were also commonly used. This time, the meeting took place in Iceland. The host Nation stood leaning against a wall at the front of the room, having not even been considered in the arrangement of chairs, secure as his country was at this time. Emil conducted a long, quiet headcount. When at last he had completed it, the silver haired Nation paused, his hand hanging limply at his side.

"Well?" Germany said impatiently after a minute. Iceland hesitated even longer, doubt written across his young face, despite his knowledge of what little time the huge group of Nations had to waste, and for some, how much time they had before they declared war yet again on their neighbors. "Cut to the chase, Iceland. Who's dead?"

"France. It's France." Iceland spoke so quietly Germany had to ask him to repeat (which he did with much less of a delay) before he turned and relayed the information to the anxious crowd of Nations. The variety of continental groups, Oceanal provinces, states, provinces, and micronations, had already begun to count their own groups, and attention was turned to the European group with a few murmurs of surprise from around the room.  
France was a very proud Nation at this time, with a large territory expanding much of Central Europe. He and his magnificent army had not quite reached the Czech Republic, with her own neutrality and hovercraft center of the world, but the brown haired young woman looked quite relieved to hear of his disappearance. The Italies, as well, seemed a bit more upbeat at the prospect of the end to France's slow but steady expansion into Italian lands.  
Germany sighed. This would be hard to say back to his brother, whom was left behind in Berlin. There was a moment of solemn silence in grieving for the Frenchman, though few must've actually been grieving. By unspoken agreement, when the moment of silence was finished and the Nations' murmuring began anew, with most of the groups looking towards England. As he seemed oblivious to this, Denmark coughed lightly before recieving a sharp jab in the stomach from his Norwegian neighbor ("But Norgie!" "Hush, Dan."), and England looked up. The Europeans had shifted away from the Englishman, leaving him on an island of solitude in the near center of the room.

"What!" He exclaimed, seeing the eyes of many of his fellow Nations turned towards him, but none would meet his own. The Nations who had been too oblivious or too nervous to look at the Brit looked up at his outburst of anger. "You think I killed him." He accused. A few Nations shrugged and looked away, nobody speaking. England was a rather large Nation, not to mention the most powerful, having taken over most of Ireland's remaining land territory and barricading against the floods of 2092 which swallowed the rest of the Irish man's land territory. England was also the second to take to underseas colonies, after his Irish brother.  
"Well you were the closest and likely the only one big enough, aru." China pointed out. England had to admit that this was a true statement, though it didn't exactly help him to prove his innocence. The closest powerful Nation able to potentially take the Kingdom of France down in a fight was definetely England. Even Germany's proud army was less than capable of a feat of that proportion.

"China!? You as well? What is all this? I didn't bloody touch the frog, let alone kill him! Who's next to accuse me? Huh? America, maybe? Canada?" A few murmured words floated over to where the Europeans had shuffled away from the Englishman, leaving him alone and revealed. He turned to where the Americas had clustered together. "Really?!" His voice was raising in pitch, and he took a breath, returning his voice to it's normal pitch.

The United States of America shrugged, a pouty look coming across his youthful face as he spoke. "Sorry dude, it seems like Frenchie was powerful-er than everyone else, so only you're left."

"That's not a word, you _bloody idiot_!" England's anger grew. Everyone had shifted together into a three-Nation wide line, and the Americas joined them, no longer seperated by the figurative Atlantic Ocean of a wide swath of empty room, and the Nations formed a wall of accusation, impenetrable and unmoving.  
"Don't speak in past tense," Someone called out from behind the wall. England thought he recognized the voice of one of France's close friends and allies, Portugal. "Francis is definetely still out there. He can't just disappear." Portugal continued. England spotted the black-brown hair of the Portuguese man through the crowd. Andre wasn't facing towards him, but rather looking around. When he finally turns towards England, his green eyes are displaying alarm. Something Andre had spotted had made him uneasy, and thus it made Arthur uneasy.

England turned the other Nation's words over in his mind, trying them and poking at them. Something wasn't right with the way the other Nation spoke. He sounded to be weighing his words, picking and choosing each word like one might pick and choose each step they take in a minefield. Carefully, mimicking Andre's way of speaking, England called out. "What do you mean, Andre?" England was careful to use the Nation's human name, though it was much too late for that.  
The Portuguese didn't get a chance to answer. A loud sound like thunder sounded from all sides, and a collective mutter spread like the plague everyone so vividly remembered through the gathered Nations. Some smarter Nations, such as Portugal, stepped back to be wreathed in the shadows, pulling up hoods and throwing on cloaks, but the crumbling walls swallowed many of them up, literally, as people came flooding over and through them and rubble rained down upon the open room. The doors burst open and fell off their rusting hinges with a crash. More citizens came crowding through the open area. For a world devastated with such a long and violent war, there sure were plenty of people in the neutral lands to break in.

England took a quick glance around the room, already moving towards the back wall, which had most of it's ceiling intact, and therefore the densest shadow. He also happened to know that there would be no possibility of people entering that way, as bottom of the exterior wall was clogged with thorn bushes. A month or so before, when the meeting was first called, England himself had taken the time to scout out the meeting area with the help of Iceland.

All of the Nations had dispersed, some throwing off their cloaks in an attempt to disguise themselves as normal, others throwing them on. This turned out to be in vain, as bloodhounds, which have the uncanny ability to sense Nations' auras, were released into the room. England winced, watching one take down Austria but being unable to help. The brown haired Nation was soon impossible to be seen, his body blocked by so many others.

All around him, the same thing was happening to almost everyone. The sights were horrifying and sometimes gruesome. A few splashes of blood surrounded an area where a German Shepherd had leaped up on The Netherlands and sunk it's teeth into the Nation's side. England sprinted on, reaching the back wall after encountering a few other scenes, which he quickly adjusted his path _to avoid at all cost_.

England was by no means a _selfish_ Nation, but he didn't pause in his mad dash to help the other Nations around him. He spotted Norway and Denmark fighting side by side once again, blocking a couple dozen people from getting to Svalbard, Greenland, Faroe Islands, and Iceland, who seemed quite indignant at being protected, though he had no weapon or training in combat, unlike the two older Nations. Japan, with Greece in tow, China, pulling along an injured Hong Kong, and South Korea had pulled out their respective weapons and, united as brothers once more, began to fight the storm of opposition. _Perhaps,_ England thought grimly, nodding to the three as he sprinted past, hoping against hope that they would follow. _This may be a good thing, in some ways._

The English Nation reached the back wall relatively soon. Skidding to a stop, he stared up at where the night sky glimmered, glaring coolly down at him, the twinkling stars laughing at and mocking his predicament. He immediately moved into a more secluded location, where a tumble of debris shadowed a small corner. And, furthermore, the debris climbed to the open sky, where England could escape.

_This is the first organized attack on the Nations,_ he thought, correctly. While some Nations had been attacked and injured by people in the past, the incidents were few and far apart. Nothing like this had occurred in Nation history. England had a difficult time believing that the people had a definitive reason for attacking only Nations. The attack seemed well planned out and prepared for. Perhaps, however, this was only a random terrorist attack. He forced himself to believe that idea, disregarding the sheer numbers that worked to disprove this, and the native look of the citizens.

An alarmed shout caught the Brit's attention. He turned his head, and immediately cursed and began quickly climbing the cluttered mass of debris. He had been spotted. A few people had begun to give chase. Reaching the top of the wall, he leaped down, pulling his cloak around him in an effort to evade as much thorn-induced injury as possible, though the threat of death, capture, or severe injury at the hands of the angry people still held precedence in his mind. Twisting in the air, England turned about, so that he would land on his back. He may or may not have wanted to land on his back to avoid having to look at the thorn-studded landscape.

After he hit the ground, driving all the air out of his lungs, he lay still for a moment in the thick brush, holding back a curse. He could hear the shouting above him. One voice in particular stood out. It sounded vaguely familiar, but all the same, not familiar at all. "Come on! We're wasting our time! He probably fell on his head or something! There are more for the pickings inside." The voices made some further sounds, and a flashlight beam even shone near him, but in time that, too, disappeared. England sighed in relief, but waited a few precious moments afterwards to dare movement.

Right away, the Brit could tell he was injured somewhere. Tearing the bottom off of his cloak with a small effort, he wrapped it around his upper leg, where he spotted a splash of blood, steadily growing larger as his heart, hammering with anxiety and adrenaline, pumped the red liquid out through his injury.

Finally, when he thought he would be okay, he risked standing up. He saw, thankfully, that the people had retreated from the opening on the top of the building, and heard, not sure what to think, the sounds of screaming and fighting from inside the building diminish. He considered briefly returning to the building, some insane part of him insisting on making sure everyone was okay. Then, the rational side of him, which was stunned that it had been able to have been convinced to _J__UMP OFF A BUILDING_, kicked in. He quickly decided that it would be suicide to return, and he had just escaped anyway, so receiving his injury would have been in vain.

A wave of dizziness passed over him as the Brit stumbled away from the site of the- it could only be described with one word- massacre. As he finally found somewhere he could enjoy a slight respite, he bumped into someone, who reeled backwards, them having clearly not seen him like he had not seen them.

England tensed, but relaxed when the person let down their black hood, letting their long brown hair fall tumbling down their back, revealing them to be Hungary. She held onto his hand and smiled comfortingly, blinking at him. He hesitantly curved his lips upwards a bit, relief swallowing him. What a strange time this was, England supposed, when he would be relieved to meet an opposing Nation at a time when he was vulnerable.

Hungary led them to where a small group of Nations had managed to escape the fates the humans had felt necessary to enforce upon them. England's heart twisted when he saw how few of them had escaped to be here, and how injured those there were. None had escaped without injury, and Bulgaria was having to lean against Romania, his eyes half closed. Among the pitiful group was Japan, Russia, Canada (finally visible for once, poor chap), Greece, Bulgaria, and Romania.

"Spread the word." Japan's soft voice was firm and grave. Everyone was close, and the small group of Nations could not risk letting people searching for escapees such as themselves hear, but his words held some tiny amount of defiance and hope, and the spirits around the group were lifted that much higher. "We are no longer safe."

**A/N Begins Here**

Whoo hoo. I'm not going to bother saying that this is my first story, as you likely will not care too much. I will however mention that if you have not yet figured it out, Hetalia does not belong to me. This is a long, but important, Author's Note. Please read to not be confused.

I am looking for a beta reader! If you are up to this, message me, please.

Now for some background.

The events mentioned in this first prologue happen in the order as follows:

\- Present day (2014)

\- Humankind takes to the ocean again, in the Russian and Greenlandic settlements floating on the Northern Sea. (2030)

\- Soon to follow, England and Ireland, though they are credited with underwater settlements first. (2056)

\- Great Anglo-Irish Floods (2062)

\- World War Three begins (2100)

\- World War Three reaches it's height (2115) From here, everything dies down until it's just a few countries left fighting. Most have surrendered or been eradicated. However, there are still some small skirmishes, as tensions are high.

\- The first "end" to WW3 (2119)

\- The second "end" to WW3 (2130)

\- The events of this chapter (2159) This will be referred to as the Great Nation Hunt of 2159, and will continue for the next two prologues.

I've been trying not to favor my favorite characters, being Norway, Lithuania, and those guys, but if you see them being used a bit more than the others, just know that I could have used them a LOT more.

Headcanons will be used in this story, as well as fewer pairings than normal. I will hint at a few pairings, like brotherly AmeCan, some AusHun, other things like that, so long as they have historical basis. I tend to view Hetalia in a very historical way.

OCs are going to be introduced. I have the Nordic Region, which I will post character profiles for, and I have some other areas. Mexico, Portugal, and so on. As Nations tend to be male characters, I have tried to keep it about 80% male OCs, so the only really female OCs I have planned are Czech Republic, Svalbard and Greenland, and a few others that will be introduced later. Not to worry, however, as my OCs will very rarely be mentioned, minus one very important OC.

This story has a roughly 50 - 70 chapter outline. It will continue for a while. Updates are planned on a bi-weekly basis. However, I had originally written the first 21 chapters on a notebook, which subsequently got lost just six weeks from the creation of the story. I am now re-writing the story off memory, so I will post when the bi-weekly marker comes up or when I get a chapter written, if that happens after the bi-weekly marker. This previously said "one week". I have changed that to two weeks.

Two more prologues are planned after this, and then the real story begins.

Long Author's Note is long. This prologue has been overhauled.


	2. Prologue Part Two

**3rd Person POV - Location: Unknown**

**September 24th, 2159**

A night wind blew, a wet breeze that carried grease and dust from the huge factories nearby into the town. The wind whistled through a dead alley, dropping some of the dust and picking up new dust, rustling the waterlogged cardboard shelters and sending mice scurrying to their homes. Boxes were stacked and tumbling in sagging heaps. Grime coated the place like the greasy fur that covered the alley cats. A single outdated streetlight among the old-style buildings cast a dingy yellow spotlight, speckled with dirt, onto the potholed street.

A slight tapping along the street would warn passerby of the man's approach, had there been any passerby. However, there were none, so only rats fled at the sound of the light, rapid footsteps. His movements caused gravel to be flicked up in his wake, and it clattered back down to the street, maximizing the sound that he had been trying so hard to keep quiet. The man stayed in the shadows where he could, stopping in the thickest and running across where there were few.

The man had black hair in a bowl cut with long bangs that covered the tops of his eyes. His hair used to be silken, but over the past few days, it had grown ruffled and dull. Fortunately, few could see the condition of his raven hair because of the dark hood that covered the man's head. In fact, a cloak covered most of his body, allowing only to be seen his arms, feet, and legs. The man's arms were bruised and cut, showing that the man had been through a hard time, and several of the cuts were fresh and bleeding, indicating that said hard times occurred fairly recently.

The man was cautious, not eager to get into yet another skirmish. He ran quite a bit, but he was old, though he didn't look it. He had to stop running, but he only did so when he was safely enveloped in shadow. When he did walk, he walked quickly and with purpose, like he had somewhere to go. At the edge of the pool of light, he stopped. Someone was coming, and the man was determined to stay unseen. However, so little time passed between when the man heard the newcomer, and when the newcomer entered his vision. The man froze, barely breathing.

The newcomer walked past the black-haired man like he didn't see him. He was carrying a stuffed leather briefcase, and had greasy brown hair that was slicked grossly to his skull, like a business man who had too much gel and time on his hands. He quickly turned a corner at the end of the alley, and slowly, slowly, the clack-clack of his dress shoes on the cobblestone street faded away into nothing.

The black haired man checked both directions, and only relaxed after he assured himself that nobody was coming. He, who was known to his friends as Kiku, continued his odd dance of running through shadows and walking through light. He quickly reached the same corner that the business man had turned, and with a quick glance to ensure the business man had disappeared, Kiku swiftly turned right onto the narrow road, then into yet another connecting alley.

This alley had even more houses and buildings lined up along either side, their paint fading away and their bricks and stones cracking. The structures were built so long ago, they were quite decrepit and unsteady now, their foundations chipped away over time, seemingly ready to cave in on Kiku in a single instant. The man was not claustrophobic, but now he hurried on ever quicker, eager to leave the eerie side alley. The hairs on the back of his neck were raised like he was being watched, and he continuously looked from side to side, ensuring that that feeling was nothing more than just that- a feeling.

Out, finally, of that stifling place, Kiku turned his head, now almost running in his eagerness to return to where ever he is going. He ignored all of the old buildings, until one in particular catches his eye. It was draped in shadows, almost unable to be seen. He walked up to it, breathing quickly and heart beating at 150 beats per minute.

The door has a latch, a circular thing that one must turn clockwise and then pull to open. Kiku examined it, then pulled a small lever hidden behind it. It occured to him, briefly, when he opened the door, that the lever seemed slightly too loose. After all, to lock the door behind one's self, they must pull the lever shut, and a firm twist of the lever would tighten it. But he ignored the feeling, deciding that, as the door had been opened several times that way in the past, the lever would be loosening up a bit. The door swings open easily, revealing a yawning deepness that seemed to swallow Kiku. He stepped inside.

Today, the walls seemed wider. The man fumbling for the light switch did his best, patting the wall confusedly, as if he couldn't see. Which he couldn't, in the pitch blackness. As he does this, he calls out to the other occupant of the small house.

"Ludwig-san! I have returned."

A different voice replies than the one that the raven-haired man expected, making Kiku freeze. That wasn't Ludwig's voice. In fact, it wasn't a voice Kiku recognized at all. He couldn't identify the speaker or the it's owner's location.

"Ah, have you? Very well. Quite a bit sooner than I would have liked, but no matter. I suppose my delays did not reach you, then?" The stranger's voice was mocking, moving around him. He tensed, thinking he heard a footstep, which convinced him that it was not a mere speaker, playing a person's voice when the person them self was actually somewhere else. This fact was comforting and yet dreadful. Kiku swallowed the lump in his throat before speaking.

"Y-you are not Germany-san." Hating how his voice shook, Kiku concentrated on making his voice sound much more confident than he felt. He almost missed the part about delays, and his heart sank further when he realized what that meant. All of the danger he went through to secure the information he now carried was arranged by whomever stood in his home.

Kiku swore he could hear the voice smirking as it replied. "I am not," the voice, now identified as at least a male voice, said, sounding amused. "But you have just proved my theory."

In the wide open room, the voice bounced around wildly, distorting the sound and giving Kiku no clues as to where it had originated from. But, Kiku had memorized the layout of the house, and he used that to his advantage, moving towards the only exit to the room.

It was only once he was grabbed that he realized how stupid he had been, his heart leaping to his throat. Of course the stranger had to be standing in the only other way to escape the room. He had, after all, had the entire time that Kiku had been out to memorize the layout himself.

"Nighty-night!" The stranger said cheerfully.

**A/N Begins Here.**

I know these prologues are short, but I can't do much about it. They are prologues, after all. Actually, most of the chapters will be short. I might add some more filler stuff to them later, though. As in, like, before I update them.

This prologue has been overhauled.

Ciao! Till next time!


	3. Prologue Part Three

**3rd Person POV - Location: Unknown**

**October 3rd, 2159**

In the darkness, two pairs of eyes glinted with just a tiny hint of light, coming through a crack beneath a heavy, locked steel door. A light was flicked on, revealing the eyes to belong to two men. The shorter of the two was grinning, while the other was grim, his face set in a frown. The two stood at the top of a staircase that descended into darkness, it's lower steps swallowed in thick shadow.

"Hello!" The grinning man called down the staircase, his companion watching him with a look of distinct indifference. There was a bit of shuffling from the bottom landing of the stairs, and a thump followed by a muffled curse, which was carried up to the two, the sound bouncing off the cold walls and magnifying. The grinning man guffawed at the person trapped in the cellar's misfortune.

"Come on. Grab the load and let's go. I don't fancy being here too long." The second man said sternly. He wasn't in the mood for his companion's sadistic joking. The sooner he was out of here, the sooner his shift would be over. This place gave him the creeps, anyway, so why prolong his suffering?

"Ah whatever. Get that stick outta your ass, mate." But the first man picked up his "load" anyway. His load turned out to be a young woman with a dark complexion, whom he slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and threw a burlap sack over her head. She was unconscious, her hands tied tightly behind her back with a rough length of rope.

The second man sighed in irritation and picked up his own load, swinging it over his shoulder in the same way the first man did. His captured man was a bit taller than the his companion's burden, with an Asian look to his skin, contrasting the woman's darker skin.

"Alright, let's go." The second man said. He began to descend the stairwell, clutching onto the rusted metal handrail and watching his step as though he expected the stairs to crumble and break beneath his feet at any time. He tested his wait tentatively with the toe of his foot before setting it down on each step.

The first man watched him go for a few moments, before following him, with a glance back up and a grimace when he looked back to the bottom. Slowly, the downstairs basement landing had appeared through the gloom. Another light waited to be turned on.

In time it was. When the light finally flickered on, it revealed a large, shabby room, with debris flooding one corner and piles of paper in another. The wall closest to the door had shackles every so often, most unlocked. Some of the paper had been spread out over the floor in a cruel and degrading representation of a bathroom.

The only pair of shackles populated was by a person of the male gender, though it was exceedingly difficult to tell. The paper around him was stained and damp. His messy, long blond hair hung loosely around his head and shoulders, and in front of his face. When he looked up, a stubbly face greeted the two men, leering above the blond with their captured prey over their shoulders.

"Hello, France." The shorter man said, looking over the pathetic Nation with a smug look on his face.

France's face darkened. He ignored the greeting, focusing on the burdens that the two carried. "Who are they?" He asked softly.

The shorter man smirked, dropping his load at the pair of shackles next to France. Swiftly, without care, he grabbed her wrists and pulled them above her head and locked them in place. Her head, still in the burlap sack, sagged forward. He grabbed the sack and whipped it off. "Voila!" He said, grinning cruelly.

"Michelle." France's voice was barely more than a whisper. The first man gestured to the taller one to do the same as he did with his burden.

The third prisoner, also limp in unconsciousness, was set down across from Francis. The taller man didn't lock his wrists into place, rather just leaving him slumped against the wall. The first man gave him an odd look, but didn't question. He instead aimed a kick at the Asian man as the taller man pulled off the burlap bag.

"Kiku." France whispered. The taller man, work done, turned to leave. As he began to ascend the stairs, the shorter man kicked Kiku again. France winced as if the blow were aimed at him, rather than his friend. The man backed off, going back to the stairs. He paused on the first step to turn off the light. The room was once again plunged into a suffocating blackness.

"Sweet dreams." The shorter man hissed, then laughed and retreated up the stairs. France let his head flop forward, but it was quickly brought back up as his shoulder was shaken by someone else.

"Q-Quoi?!" He said, almost shouting, before realizing how suicidal that would be. If, that was, this person was not trying to kill him, either.

They weren't. It was Kiku, who had apparently been awake this entire time. Thinking about it, France recalled his brown eyes being slightly open, meeting France's own blue ones, even giving a tiny nod when the two captors had their eyes averted. France's eyes widened. The Japanese man unlocked France's shackles, and France pulled his wrists close to his chest, rubbing them.

"Everything is about to change, Francis," Kiku spoke softly, almost inaudibly, as he turned to help Michelle. The young woman was beginning to awake at the mild commotion. "Are you ready?" His brown eyes glinted in the gloom. Francis nodded without hesitation. The lights turned on. "Good."

**A/N Begins Here.**

**Is it just me, or are these prologues getting shorter? This is the last one, though. The next chapter added will be the first chapter. Finally. At long last.**

**Sayonara, until next time!**


	4. Recollection

**Prussia's POV - Location: Unknown**

**September 18th, 2167**

I blink open my eyes to darkness.

Of course, I was expecting darkness, so it's no problem. Closing my eyes, I listen to the silent room. There's a hum outside, but I ignore that. Focusing my energy requires silence and concentration.

Yep, the bubble's still up. Six years ago, running from Hunters, I bumped into my little brother, Germany. We took refuge in a fallen down home, and I, determined not to let anyone touch West, made my aura cover him. He explained that, at a meeting in 2159, the Nations had been attacked by citizens. Livonia and I were away, and so the other Nations jumped on that, saying that we caused this.

That's nonsense! I had said. Germany had shaken his head.

They believe it. I had had no words. Instead, we decided to figure out how to hide ourselves among the angry citizens. It took many hours, many injuries, and blood, sweat, and tears, but we did accomplish it.

Outside the house, I must wear a wig and colored contacts. My eyes and hair are too, too noticable. At all times, I must be making my aura- the aura of a human, as I am no longer a Nation- spread over the house. Nobody can be too far from me, or the aura will not protect them. Cats and dogs, especially bloodhounds, can track Nations' auras, and the citizens have figured this out.

And so we began a safehaven. Word spreads quickly, with Nations, and we have gotten many Nations, turned up at our doorstep. They would stay for a few days, recover, and heal, then leave. Soon, though, the number of our fellows that turned up decreased rapidly, and the few that did show up brought bad news with them.

The Nation-Hunt headquarters and the largest hold for captured Nations, had moved into our city, and declared the grounds on which it sat property of Ciito, the country that had founded the Nation Hunt. They had not been challenged. We also had compiled a list of Nations who were captured. So far, we know that Latvia, Lithuania, Egypt, Belgium, Spain, Sweden, Finland and Denmark were captured. Others had been rumored to be captured, but those were who we knew to be taken.

That was four years ago. Now, our team of Nation savers consisted of West and I, Estonia, Veneziano and Romano, and England, who had arrived only yesterday. We found Estonia and his brothers ambushed in an alley by the Nation Hunt. I managed to grab Estonia, and it took both West and I to hold him, but we couldn't save either Latvia or Lithuania. Romano found us, saying that Veneziano wasn't waking up, dammit. He led us to where the two of them were attacked, and we nursed the younger of the two back to health. He still isn't the same, though.

England had run onto our doorstep yesterday, literally. He was out of breath, unable to speak. He had stumbled straight upstairs and fallen asleep in West's room.

Estonia told us that Russia was running some organization, doing something similar to what we do. He had no other details. It's Estonia who knocks on my door.

"Prussia?" He calls. I sigh internally. His voice betrays no good news, sounding more weary. No news on Livonia, then. I guess. My fellow dead Nation has been growing closer to me in the years since 2159, but he disappeared three years ago.

"I'm awake!" I say back, struggling with the bedcovers that have twisted them around my body in the night. Estonia opens the door.

"So you are," he says, amused slightly. He flicks on the light, and I wince. Although we specially had the light in my room dimmed, it hurts my sensitive eyes. "England woke up. He seems ready to talk now."

I grin. "That's good. I'm assuming he didn't cook breakfast." I don't smell anything burning, but it's usually better to ask.

"Ugh," Estonia makes a face, shuddering. "I don't think so. Romano did, with much complaining, actually." The blond Nation adjusts his glasses.

I sit up. "Right then," I say. "Time to get moving for the day." Estonia nods and retreats from the doorway. I stand up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and blinking a bit to clear my vision of black spots. A black t-shirt sits abandoned on the floor. I pick it up, putting it on over my undershirt. After a minute or two of hunting about, I find a discarded pair of camo-pattern jeans, which I pull on as well.

Stretching one last time, I head downstairs. True to Estonia's words, England is awake, and he did not cook breakfast, thankfully. Instead, Romano is busying Veneziano carrying breakfast pizzas between the kitchen and eating area. I look around the room, noticing that I am the last to wake. West is sitting on one end of the table, reading the morning news on the holo-tablet, with Estonia sitting to his left, punching numbers into an old-style calculator. England sits across from Estonia, sipping tea that I didn't know we had in the house.

I take my place at the head of the table, opposite West, as Veneziano and Romano carry out juice and a few glasses. I smile at Veneziano, and he blinks back at me. His eyes look confused, but after a second he smiles.

Romano nudges him. "Set the juice down, bastard." He says, but his voice holds no hostility. His green eyes meet mine and he frowns before turning away.

Veneziano giggles. "Y-yeah, I guess I had better, right?" He places the pitchers of juice on the table.

West looks up, glancing at me. Italy's still not normal. I nod, frowning slightly. West's face is grim.

I clear my throat as Romano and Veneziano take their places to my right and left respectively. "So, England," I say. The blond looks over at me. "Estonia tells me you are ready to talk?"

England looks at Estonia, who has set his calculator aside. Guiltily, the other Nation shrugs. England glares. "Yes, fine. But in order to be sure of my suspicions, I need to find Romania and Norway. Egypt, if possible, would be helpful too. Even Greece could help."

West shakes his head. "Egypt is guaranteed to be captured. We haven't heard anything about Romania, but we know Finland, Denmark, and Sweden were taken, so it's likely Norway is as well. Greece is also rumored to be captured."

England winces. "That's more than I thought."

I frown. "Hang on, you still haven't said what you need them for."

"Magic," Comes the reply. England's green eyes are dead serious. "It's important I gather at least Romania and Norway. I've been detecting Norway's magic from three hours Northeast of here on an Oldlander vehicle."

"Recently?" Estonia asks. He seems intrigued.

"Yes."

"Great," I clap my hands together. "Everyone get ready to go, and meet me downstairs in twenty minutes." I grin at England. Gilbird flutters over and sits on my head, cheeping in excitement. "I'll show you my favorite part of the house."

"You're insane, Prussia," England rolls his eyes as he says this. "But I will be ready."

**Time skip-eroo**

"All right." I look around at the assembled group. Estonia hadn't changed, but Romano and Veneziano had their mafia gear on, and they looked badass. Black leather jackets, white gloves, heavy combat boots, and a fedora placed on Romano's head completed the look. West had gotten two coolers full of drinks and snacks. England had collected a folded piece of silken black fabric, and when Estonia asked him what it was, England looked away and muttered, "Norway will understand". Estonia had stopped asking. I had only put in blue contacts.

"You five don't look half bad. Not nearly as awesome as myself, of course." I grin. Germany's hand meets his forehead. "Alright, everyone follow me." I turn on my heel and start towards a door across the room.

I kick open the door, letting it hit the wall with a bang. West makes a face. I take no notice, striding into the room and standing next to one of my babies.

"This, England, is my pride and joy." Two silver Oldlander SUVs sit, in perfect condition, in the garage. I pat one of the vehicle's hood fondly and look over the Their windows are darkly tinted, and inside, there are smooth leather seats and a dark fabric floor. I turn to England, ready to see his jaw drop open in shock. He is rolling his eyes.

"Can we just go?"

I make a face at him. "Fine, fine. West, Estonia, and the Italies- Car #2. I'll drive with England."

Estonia nods, moving to the driver's side of the second SUV.

Romano makes a face. "But won't the car be goddamn crowded, you bastard?"

I shake my head. "The innocence of youth," The Italian makes more of a face at that. "No, there is room enough for all of us. Also, we'll be taking Norway and anyone else there with us on the way back."

"Oh." Romano's face stops looking all twisted, and he walks over to Estonia's SUV, pulling Veneziano behind him. He opens the car door, and Gibird flies out, cheeping up a frenzy. He settles into Germany's hair, ruffling up the gelled blond strands. Germany looks up and grabs the bird.

"Hey!" I yell. "Bird abuse." West takes one look at my face and rolls his eyes, tossing the adorable ball of fluff at me.

"Keep track of your bird." He snaps. I pout at him as Gilbird chirps angrily, settling into my hair and promptly falling asleep. When things like this happen, it's hard to believe we're in a war.

"Right, right, now stop fussing and load up." I smirk at my brother. He hands me one of the coolers and hands the second off to Veneziano, who shies away from him slightly, eyes wide.

England clutches his fabric to his chest and marches over to the passenger side of the car I'm standing next to. I swing open the drivers' seat and sit down, swinging my legs in. I pull the door closed, then turn to the bin between my and England's seats. I rummage around in it a bit before finding what I'm looking for: a neatly parted, black haired wig. It's cut is a bit long so that it will fully hide my silver hair.

"Are we ready?" I ask England. He nods, storing his fabric in the glove compartment. "Awesome! Let's go!" England barely has time to frantically press the garage opening button before I've slammed my boot down on the gas pedal. We clear the garage door, but only just.

"Hey, watch it! Reckless driver!" England's voice is high pitched, and I smirk at him. He breathes deeply. "Just, calm yourself, Prussia."

"You got it, Eng-eng!" I grind my boot into the gas pedal, turning the car sharply around a corner, sending England falling into his window.

"GODDAMMIT, PRUSSIA!" He shouts.

I wag my finger at him. "Gilbert. My name is Gilbert."

England rolls his eyes. "Very well then, Gilbert. I see the back seats are down. Can I go to sleep?" He starts unbuckling his seatbelt, as if he doesn't care what my answer is."

"Sure." I shrug. "Knock yourself out." I snicker at my own pun. "There are a couple blankets back there. Besides," I add, peering at the road ahead. "We might be stuck here for a while." We've gotten stopped in the middle of traffic, a busy marketplace on either side of us. Traffic with Oldlander vehicles is usually pretty bad, through we've found that Czech's stuff is getting more popular for transportation.

"Alright then." England is fully in the backseat now, rolled away from me.

I sit back in my seat, arms behind my head. We'll be here for a bit, I might as well relax.

**A/N Begins Here**

Ow, long time no see for this chapter. Argh. Caramelldansen and roleplay with my Hetalia group had me distracted. It's difficult to stay stoic as a Norway roleplayer when you've got Caramelldansen playing.


	5. In The Hold of the Nations

**Latvia's POV - Location: Unknown**

**September 18th, 2167**

"Hello?" I'm awake. When I blink open my eyes, I see nothing. There's a sort of fuzzy light that I can almost see, but it's as if I'm blindfolded. I call out instead.

There's some shuffling to my right. My hands are numb like I've been sitting on them, but I can move them. I put them to my face, and realize there's no blindfold. I close my eyes instead. I know that will help them adjust to the dim light.

"Where am I?" I want to ask if any other Nations are there, but with the recent danger to our kind, it's almost a death wish.

A flat voice speaks. I recognize it almost instantly, despite having spoken to this person on only a couple of occassions. The voice is speaking in Nation, rather than the English that I called out in, so I deem him to be friendly. I can't see him, though. "The largest Nation-hold on the Planet Earth. Welcome to Ciito, Latvia." Norway says.

"Mr. Norway! W-who else is there?" I've been trying to control my stutter in the days leading up to my capture, but with little success, I've all but given up.

"Hungary, China, Poland," Norway lists the Nations with long breaks between each word, as if he's looking around the room. "Netherlands, Turkey, Switzerland, Sealand." He hesitates. "Egypt."

"Okay. Is anyone else awake?" I can't see anything, but I'm perfectly able to speak.

Norway's voice takes on a slightly surprised tone. "I forgot, I haven't had you adjust yet. Egypt's been out since you got here, so I guess he hasn't done it, either." The last part is spoken more to himself than to me, which I am fine with, as Norway is pretty difficult to speak with. The Norwegian mutters something I can't catch, and the room brightens suddenly. I look around.

The first thing I see is Norway, sitting almost directly across the small room from me, his eyes flat like his voice. His light colored hair is neat but greasy. The hair 3clip sits in it's usual place. His navy shirt is crinkled and torn, with a maroon stain spread across his right shoulder. Blood. It's old, and dried, but it serves as a painful reminder of the danger we are in. Norway's black gloves are torn into strips and sit by his side, along with a fair amount of the hems of his black pants.

"We all have different sleeping schedules- nobody knows what day it is or what time it is." He says as I look around the room.

To the right of Norway is a sleeping Hungary, her military uniform creased and some of the black strips are wrapped around her shins. She sleeps in what looks like an uncomfortable position- her legs straight but her torso twisted and her hands tucked up to her chest. Her brown hair is tangled and tied in a ponytail. The orange flowers in her hair are damaged and fading. Norway reaches over and shakes her shoulder lightly until she opens her green eyes.

"Norway?" Hungary asks. Norway nods and holds up a rock. Confused, I watch him pull his arm back, and turn it towards a rubble-filled corner of the room, tucked behind a wide pillar. Hungary puts her hand on the rock. "Let me throw." I glance at Norway's shoulder.

"Oh. Yeah." He lowers his arm and lets Hungary take the rock from him. She tosses it easily into the corner, and the rock thumps against something that doesn't ring like metal or stone. The thud is followed by a yelp of pain.

"Hey!" A blond head pokes out of the corner. I recognize the Nation as Poland, one of Lithuania's close friends. "Hun-hun...!" The Pole whines, seeing Hungary's raised throwing arm.

"You wouldn't wake up." Hungary's voice, though tired from captivity, hides a laugh.

"Hello, Poland." I speak up; a familiar face makes me braver.

Poland turns his head towards me, and heaves his body out of the corner. "Latvia! Like, where's Liet?" He starts to scan the room, looking for his friend. Hungary and Norway turn towards me, expecting an answer. At least, I think Norway is. His face is just blank.

"Um, not here. B-but, I don't know why." I answer nervously. "I can explain what happened though."

**This is a Page Break**

"Latvia!" Lithuania is calling up the stairs. I back further into my hiding place. "Estonia!" The tallest of us shuts the door to the closet.

"Up here!" Estonia calls back. I hear Lithuania ascend the stairs. "Is Russia gone?"

Lithuania must be nodding. "Yes," He sighs. "He's advised we move again. The haven closer to his headquarters is completed. Where's Latvia?"

Estonia says something and the door is opened. I shiver.

"He's really gone?" I ask.

Lithuania nods and smiles, but his eyes are tired. He'd been with Russia for the entire week he was here, while Estonia and I had avoided the Russian. He was one of the only Nations still partaking in World War Three.

"We should gather our things." Estonia says. He is referring to the backpacks with food, water, clothing, and other essential supplies we keep near us at all times, in case we have to run. We might not be the most sought after Nations, or the most powerful, but from what we've been told, even small Nations such as ourselves are being taken.

I nod and hand Estonia his. Lithuania leaves the room to get his, and I stand up, taking my bag from a crack in the wall. Estonia and I head downstairs, where Lithuania rejoins us.

"I have a bad feeling." The brown-haired Baltic is frowning. He keeps glancing around us, like he hears something. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"W-why don't we j-just get out of here?" I suggest. "T-the other haven is only a d-day away, r-right?"

"Taip. We should go." Lithuania leads us to the back door. The back exit leads straight into a narrow alley, with tall brick walls on either side. Estonia shoulders his bag and follows Toris, who had begun to walk down the alley. I swallow and follow the two older Baltics.

A figure jumps down from the wall ahead of us. Toris backs up a step. "Gilbert!" The two had had some sort of violent encounter before the fiasco with the Nation Hunt. I doubt Toris trusts him again. "Ugh, what are you doing here?"

"Toris." The Prussian's voice is curt. "This isn't safe. The Nation Hunt knows you're here. They're already en route to get you guys."

"Gilbert, move." Toris doesn't seem to want to listen. He pushes past Gilbert, who is standing in the middle of the alley. Gilbert sends a look to Estonia and I. Estonia grabs my arm and pulls me after Lithuania. Prussia growls lowly in frustration, but it is drowned out by a few shouts.

"There's four of 'em! Get 'em!" My worst fear has come true. THe Nation Hunt drops down from the walls of the alley. Prussia melts into the shadows, and Estonia's hand slips from my grip.

The next moments are a blur. I feel myself grabbed by multiple people, and out of the corner of my eye I see Lithuania struggling, held above the ground by two big, burly men with the black and silver uniforms of the Nation Hunt. A moment later he goes limp, and his eyes close. My struggles renewed, I almost free myself, but then something heavy hits the back of my head, and the world goes black.

**This is a Page Break**

"And I woke up here. I don't know where Estonia or Lithuania went."

Norway nods. "I figured something like this would happen. I couldn't be the only one."

Hungary looks at him. "What do you mean?"

The Scandinavian frowns, his eyes flashing with concern. "Pairs. Nations who are captured together are always seperated. I was brought in with Denmark, but I haven't seen him since. Egypt was brought in with Turkey and Greece. Netherlands with Belgium." He knits his eyebrows together. "There's no way they could have escaped, so either they were killed, or something much worse is happening to Nations." Poland gapes at him. Irritated, Norway snaps at the Pole. "What?"

"That's the most I've ever heard you say at once!" I sigh. This looks like it will be a long day.

**A/N Begins Here**

Yay for short chapters that take a long time and are terrible at transitioning!

Don't own Hetalia

But I do own a t-shirt with Prussia on it saying "I am awesome!"


End file.
